


Love Me 'Til My Heart Stops

by wheremyinhalerat (bearsquares)



Series: But in my dreams we're still screaming [2]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: 1960s, Adult Losers Club (IT), Bisexuality, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Crushes, Dissociative Amnesia, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex, Inspired by Novel, Multi, One Shot, POV Third Person Limited, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, bookverse, implied OT7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 15:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12656622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearsquares/pseuds/wheremyinhalerat
Summary: Richie and Beverly cohabitate during a particularly hot summer. They go on a record store date and think way too hard about stuff.Heavily influenced by one of the novel chapters.





	Love Me 'Til My Heart Stops

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a direct continuation of the first in the series. I missed writing Eddie so much the whole time...aaahahah ;w;
> 
> I use queer as an identifier - it isn't meant as a perjorative.  
>  
> 
> Title comes from "This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)", which just...works its way into every damn Losers fic I heckin' write. OOPS.

 

 

He didn't remember exactly when he did it or in what context but at some point during the summer of 1968, Richie Tozier asked Beverly Marsh on a date.

Granted, they were a couple of college students fucking off for the summer so it wasn't a huge deal but he felt nervous about it anyway. Beverly definitely wasn't going to be the one to bring it up; it wasn't her idea and that just wasn't her style.

The important part was both of them remembered he’d said it.

The doubly important part was they were sleeping together.

 

It had been about a week and a half since Beverly had come back to Derry. Richie had been there for a month, working a summer job to get him through another ambling college semester. The reason for Beverly's sudden appearance was never really discussed but he knew it had to do with her family - probably illness; he didn't ask.

There were gaps in his memory, even as recently as the previous week, but he knew they had been together every day since then. He insisted she stay with him and, although she protested a bit, it was what they both needed. Life was baring down on them and staying together was their defense. It wasn’t something either of them were ready to give up that quickly.

The day they bumped into each other almost felt like it was staged. Richie was on his way home after a particularly drawn out Friday in a book-filled dungeon and decided to stop by the pharmacy. It was hot, he was thirsty, there were drinks. _Perfect_. He found her crouching in an empty aisle when he was making moves to pay for his orange Nehi and even though he couldn't see her face past her bouncy red curls, Richie had a moment of uncertainty mixed with pure excitement, joy, _elation_ \- whatever one would call it. (This happened to him occasionally. He would glimpse a redheaded girl about his age and do anything to see her face because he had to know, he had to make sure even though he had no idea why or what of. Richie did this with multiple types of people: tall, willowy guys with wavy, coppery locks; heavier-set men with brown hair and baggy clothes; lanky men with bright red hair - it was weird and he _felt weird_ about it, but it was like instinct.)

He knew better than to ask the familiar stranger if she was okay because he sure as hell didn’t want to get slapped. Instead, he dashed off like a jackrabbit to buy some painkillers and borrow a glass of water.

Somehow, when he crouched down he knew it was her. It passed like a shiver, whatever it was, and _felt_ like Beverly. Her face was as lovely as he remembered - even more, in fact. Beverly Marsh was always pretty, but she had grown up to be a complete and total fox.

 

Richie loved having her close. He had built up a strong social filter over the years. It worked. People liked him. They thought he was hilarious and charming but he got so wrapped up in the high of constant attention that he’d occasionally come down and burn out, stuck with an uglier version of himself. It was a wall and he knew that, but Richie Tozier didn't need that filter with one of his own.

Being with Beverly that summer was probably the most relaxed he’d ever been in his life. They tore their façades off and everything was so _clear,_ like they were kids again. She still got after him when he did something stupid and whipped his awful jokes right back at him. They still smoked together - not cigarettes, but they sat shoulder-to-shoulder and talked like they did years ago. She still liked dumb horror movies and would happily listen to any type of music. She still had captivating hazel-green eyes that reminded him of the woods. And, as it turned out, he was still in love with her.

The only thing that had really changed was his clearer understanding of what being “in love” actually meant. He fell for her almost instantly when they were kids and did his best to figure out what that actually meant for him at the tender age of eleven. She was pretty and cool and she could beat him up but she never did even though he probably deserved it sometimes. The few things the two of them did together were special and he was happy with that. Richie's feelings for Beverly were his to keep so that was exactly what he did because she had liked Bill and probably wanted to kiss him. That was okay. Richie liked Bill, too. He wasn't quite as keen on the kissing part because Bill would have kicked his ass.

As Richie Tozier grew up, he realized that being in love was far more complicated than staring at someone he liked and waiting patiently for them to give him the time of day. It was conflict; it was madness, even, but Love as a conceptual thing was always presented as clear-cut with rules every person was supposed to follow: each boy picks one girl and they get married, have kids and stay together even if they don’t get along. Men with girlfriends and wives couldn't have female friends, women in relationships with men couldn’t have male friends.

That was all bullshit. There was _way_ more to love than that and judging by the scanty mental remains of his childhood, Richie had known it for a very long time.

Recalling his childhood feelings for Beverly dredged up other emotional memories and everything went off in a wild chain reaction. His love for his fellow losers ran deep and manifested in different ways.

He was always very attached to Eddie Kaspbrak - little Eds with his lung sucker, sticking to Big Bill like glue. He looked shy and cute, which he certainly was at times, but he also didn't take any shit. The kid had a reckless spirit and was in many ways bolder than he looked. Their friendship was almost familial, which he knew Eddie really needed at the time.

Richie also had something like a schoolboy crush on Stan Uris. He had himself together in ways most kids did not, sometimes displaying adult-like restraint which Richie admired (envied, if he was being honest). But the beautiful thing about Stan was his spontaneous ideas and raw talent, the stiff, youthful awkwardness melting away into cat-like grace or, preferably, some kind of delicious contaband.

Mike was incredibly cool and Richie hung out with him at every opportunity. The guy showed him up in a lot of ways but it never made him mad. In fact, Richie almost felt like thanking him when he turned him on to better music or corrected a misquote - Mikey Hanlon was that damn smart. He went to a church school since Derry had always been a racist shit hole, but the kid looked like a college professor carrying around his scrapbook of research - he even had annotated pages and notes scrawled in the margins. Everyone felt a strange maturity from Bill, but Richie felt something similar (but more natural) from Mike.

Ben was a smart kid, too - skilled and endearing as all get out. Every time he started going to pieces around Bev, Richie _had_ to shine him on about it, but he secretly thought it was sweet in his own strange way - maybe that it was nice that some boys were romantics since Richie never had that sort of thing in him. Ben loved all of them, though, and Richie had never doubted it once.

In any other situation outside of that summer, having forgotten his bonds, Richie may have never come to understand why he was different.

There were a few teenage flings under his belt that all went kaput but the various experiences led him toward the same conclusion: he could be in love with more than one person and they didn't always have to be girls. Once he knew what was different about him, he felt a mixture of relief and terror. He knew what he wanted but it was too many different things. He would never be happy with the accepted cookie-cutter relationship model. Finding what _would_ make him happy would be impossible and he would end up alone. When Beverly told him,  _showed him_ , that she was the same, he could have cried. He had, even for a short time, someone he could relate to and connect with - the immediate attraction that sparked between them as adults made perfect sense.

 

They talked about liking both boys and girls a few times; it was one of their serious talks which seemed to happen like clockwork even though neither of them wanted to play therapist. They were always in the same place on his floor with Beverly in his lap, resting back against him. It was almost ritualistic - maybe it was because they still had a sliver of hope for remembering the things they talked about after summer ended. Maybe they could keep some of the things they figured out when they parted ways, and maybe they could protect themselves from the people they never wanted to be.

“Is it weird to want both?” He asked.

“No. I don't think so.” Beverly leaned her head back against his shoulder. “I think it's weird for something like that to matter so fucking much.”

“A lot of shit like that matters a whole lot to people but they don't care about thousands of people being fucking killed every day because, like, five assholes brought up the idea.”

Beverly chuckled bitterly. “You can have war but I can't lick pussy.”

"But people think you're a freak if you don't do the same thing as everyone else." Richie huffed against her hair, wrapping his lean arms around her shoulders. “It's fucked up. It's so fucked up.”

“Right? They just do what society feeds them, y'know? I mean, people out there think we need to be married to even share a bed.”

He snorted. “My sweet Bevvie, didn't you know you have to be miserable to fuck? Unendurable, nauseating sex is a burden we must bear as two straight crackers.”

He felt her giggle silently in his arms. “I can't even see myself marrying. That sounds so…awful.” Beverly whispered.

Of course not. Richie didn't want that for her, either. She'd spent enough of her life being dominated, controlled and _hated_ by men. The losers never said anything about her abuse, but they all knew and they took care of her in their own way. The possibility of Beverly losing her self-awareness and all of the things that came back when they were together terrified him. He was sure that summer was the first time he'd seen her without bruises. He didn't want it to be the last.

“Do you think we're like this because of what happened when we were kids?”

“Did the others end up like us, you mean?” He muttered quietly.

Beverly shrugged. "Like, could everyone figure things out...the stuff we forgot."

"Dunno. I wonder if any of them are kinda queer, too.

"Hm."

"Who knows."

“We've reached the bottom of the rabbit hole, Tozier.”

"I think I want out." He was still wearing his office clothes and hadn't showered after being out in the heat. It wasn't hard to feel disgusting in his modest apartment where the only real ventilation came from the windows and one small electric fan. "I don't know how you can stand sitting in my nasty, sweaty lap.”

Beverly smiled. “I don't know why you keep grabbing my tits when I've been sweating all over them all day.” Richie gestured concededly. “You gonna rinse off?” He nodded. “Can I come with?”

“Always, purty lady.”

She elbowed him affectionately.

 

They didn't turn any lights on when it got dark. Light made heat and it was a particularly hot summer for Maine. Besides, the apartment was lit well enough by the streetlamps outside - “mood lighting” she called it. The hazy halogen lamps cast a dim amber stripe across the floor and their bed. It didn't really do anything for visibility but he could still see her up close and that was all that mattered.

At one point, Beverly bought a record by this European guy (Richie couldn't pronounce his name so he never learned it) who played some groovy instrumental guitar pieces. They liked falling asleep to it. The background noise made the apartment feel less empty.

“Hey, Bevvie.”

Her arm was thrown across his chest, one leg between both of his. It was how they slept, unreasonable as it seemed in the heat. “Mm?”

“Remember when we listened to records last week?”

“Mostly.”

“I didn't know who the Kinks were,” he absently stroked her arm. “Remember that?”

He felt her smile against his shoulder. “I was so fucking embarrassed.”

Richie laughed softly. “And I said I'd take you on a record store date.”

Beverly was quiet for a moment and he worried that he'd done something wrong. Actually bringing it up again made him nervous. “Yeah?” She kissed softly beneath his collarbone.

They had bypassed the strictly flirting stage and moved straight to fucking, but he still felt that big, nervous blush flash right up to his ears. His chest felt heavy. He tried to swallow past his dry throat as quietly as he could. He felt like a complete Ted. “Wanna go tomorrow?”

“Hmm...I'll see if I can pencil you in.” She cut right through the tension. _Thank god._

Richie cracked up, kissing the top her head. “Ooh, so hard to get, I loves a chase,” he growled.

She giggled, pressing her warm cheek against his chest. “Wanna know something sad?”

“No, but tell me anyway.”

“I've never been on a date before.”

The rapid mechanism of Richie’s thought process screeched to a halt. He was floored and it took him a moment to puzzle through what she said. How the hell had no one taken a knock-out like Beverly Marsh out for some quality one on one? “I don't understand.”

“Aside from prom and college parties-”

“Those don't count.”

“Yeah. Nothing else.”

“What the _fuck_?”

Richie briefly fantasized about appraising every jack-off that tried to go steady with Beverly. He'd want to sit on a porch in a rocking chair with a rifle across his lap - scare the shit out of 'em, weed out the weak ones even though they would all be weak ones to him. He suddenly thought about all six boys doing the same thing and nearly busted up.

“I know, it's pathetic.” She grumbled.

He balked. “ _They're_ pathetic. You're…” Richie sighed, trying to slow his mouth down because he was getting worked up and didn't want to sound like a jackass. He thought about her eating ice cream on a bench wearing a cute sleeveless blouse. “You're like my fucking gold standard for girls. I would have given my left nut to take you out in high school-” Beverly shook with silent laughter. “I'm still ready to do it if I have to-”

She gasped between giggles. “Please don't mutilate your nuts, Richie.”

He combed his fingers through her hair, propping himself up just a little. “Here, look at me. It's dark and you can't see me but do it anyway, humor me.” Beverly looked up and rested her chin on his chest, still getting over her laughs. “I am serious about one thing: you have me and five other guys who love you and not one of us would let something like that slide.”

“Think so?”

“I _know_ so, Bevvie. So I'm going to take you on a date and if it's not perfect, I'll do it over and over as many times as I need to until it is-”

“Richie…”

“Yeah?”

She pushed herself up enough to skim her lips over his. “You're a good guy.” Beverly's tongue slipped into his mouth before he could say anything otherwise and her kiss was over as quickly as it began. He'd kissed plenty of times, he wasn't new to it, but she could take the air right out of him anyway. “You're gonna make someone really happy someday.”

Richie doubted that very much. They would have to be exceptionally special for him to honestly, truly love them. He also doubted ever feeling enough love for another person outside of their circle to maintain a long term relationship - yet another layer to his fated lonesome adulthood. It was fair to say that intimacy scared him, yet there he was tangled up with someone he loved completely in spite of it.

“I'd rather just make you happy.” _Wow. Wow, that sounded..._ He cleared his throat.

Beverly was quickly on top of him, straddling his middle and kissing him as she was before. Each time they parted she told him she didn't deserve that and he should get out there and not settle for someone like her but the way she kissed him and tugged on his hair told him different. Richie didn't believe either of those things. He believed that she had been told a lot of awful shit growing up and people probably continued to mistreat her as she matured. She was blamed for things that weren’t her fault and took it anyway even though she was smart enough to know better. Somewhere along the way, someone convinced her she wasn't good enough to be loved and it broke his goddamn heart, especially when Richie thought himself incapable of properly loving anyone.

 

 

One of Richie's favorite things about that summer was how easy it was to forget about stressful, heavy things. Most kids could do it pretty easily (he got over stuff with an impeccable quickness when he was younger) but the burden of adulthood weighed him down more and more with every passing year. When he woke up next to Beverly, though, when they did normal things together, he felt some of that lightness again. She'd put her hands on her hips and tell him to _please, for the love of god, do your dishes - they've been piled up since before I even got here_! They would go down to the building's basement to do laundry together and she'd read magazines in his lap between cycles. They especially liked going to the park and sitting on the swings even though it pissed off all the little kids. It was dumb domestic shit but they both felt secure for once in their lives.

That day, they spiffed up, linked arms, and ignored the rest of the world. They had no context for their shared trauma, but it was still there and the only real safety each felt was with the other. Richie and Beverly made their own little bubble where they could be kids and adults - have their fucking cake and eat it too. They deserved that freedom.

Walking from one part of town to the other was a chore in the summer heat, but the one decent record store in Derry was tucked away back toward the old packing plant. As they often did, the two stopped somewhere along the way so they wouldn't wither and die in the harsh sunlight. Richie made the mistake of acting on his hankering for popsicles and had to spend the rest of the walk trying not to stare at Beverly's tongue catching every melting drop. Every time he saw the damn thing slide past her blush-pink lips he just wanted to take her back to the apartment. If it weren't so hot outside, he would have swept her into an alleyway and-

“Richie.”

He blinked. She was staring up at him. “Yeah?”

“Your hand…”

He was so busy framing up his dirty thoughts that he completely forgot he had a popsicle of his own. It had melted almost entirely. “Oh.”

Beverly bit her lip. “You'd better eat it or I will.”

Richie stuck his tongue out and quickly finished it. She pouted and sat on a bench while he dashed into the Historical Society building to rinse off his sticky hands - they were right there and he knew the building had a bathroom. He felt like a messy toddler.

 _You horny_ dipshit, he thought vehemently, _you actual dickhead._

She was patiently sitting outside and, for a moment, he remembered her showing him yo-yo tricks. The memory was faint but he'd thought it was really cool that she could school him like that. It wasn’t as if Richie looked down on girls, it simply never occurred to his 11 year old brain that a girl could be admired for things other than her looks. (He would take that little tidbit to his grave.) It hit him then - they actually _did_ kind of go on a date that day in ‘58. Ben was there but it still counted - he liked Ben being there even though the poor guy could barely keep his head on around her. Ten years after the fact, Richie finally understood him.

The summer heat hit him as he walked out wiping his hands on the seat of his pants along with the dull realization that she was waiting for _him - of all people -_ and it felt like he was already fucking up something he didn't deserve. Richie tried to think of a good voice for the occasion but nothing came to him. “I, uh-” _I can't handle someone as hot and brilliant as you giving me the time of day_. “Clearly can't be trusted with frozen things.”

She rolled her eyes and took his hand, gently nipping at one of his fingers. Her mouth was still cold. Fuck, he wanted to kiss her. “Are you nervous, Richie?”

“No!” He said it too quickly to be convincing. _Shit_. “No, no, pfft - me?” She arched one dark eyebrow. “I’m just gonna beep myself.” Beverly cracked up.

Thankfully, they resumed normal conversation and it took his mind off his embarrassing attempts at cataloguing his feelings about women. Beverly began telling Richie the sordid history of every dumpy house they passed. The one with the yellow awning out front had an axe murder take place in the downstairs bedroom; the greenish house with one second floor window had an invalid trapped in the basement by his family; an old man lived in the white house on the corner where he worshipped Satan and did his own amateur taxidermy.

Richie came up with a few of his own. The tasteful cape cod with the white picket fence once housed a family that was eaten alive by rats so, of course, it was majorly haunted. The brick duplex was a secret brothel - he would know - and there was a single floor house with aluminum siding where at least 5 documented crimes of passion were committed, one of which involved a food processor and some missing external organs. (Beverly hit him for that one.)

By the time they were debating the likelihood of rats eating people unprovoked, they were skirting the old packing plant. Richie noticed Beverly staring straight ahead, no longer gawking at their surroundings. The compulsion to ask her if something was wrong hovered in the back of his mind but some unknown thing told him to let it alone. Walking through Derry was like walking through a cemetery and it was best to avoid revisiting every plot they recognized, even in passing.

The record store was a cool little set up. It was in a narrow brick row-house. There were businesses on either side, but the row itself was fairly isolated. It stuck out against the street as if the other buildings had been knocked out like teeth. The inside was gutted completely: no plaster walls, no carpeting, no real cosmetic features. It looked more like a posh city loft than a dinky old house in a small town.

The guy who ran it, and possibly owned it (they never asked), was different from most Derry residents. Richie didn't want to assume he was queer, but he definitely wasn't your run-of-the-mill man's man and he sure as hell didn’t dress or speak like a local. He was very personable, though and apparently knew his music. He recognized Beverly right away and gave them a cheery little wave. Most record shop folks glared and asked you to leave if you didn't buy anything within 15 minutes, but their guy settled down on his stool behind the counter and turned his attention back to a spread of several magazines, most of them foreign.

Beverly tugged Richie toward the far corner of the stacks. The record genres were labelled with unconventional descriptions on handwritten paper signs. There was no “classical”, “folk”, or “rock n’ roll”, he noticed. Instead, there were signs reading “foreign garage bands”, “heavy psychedelic rock”, “heavi _er_ psychedelic rock” - one sign just had a bunch of question marks drawn on it. They came to “experimental rock” and his inner radio hits-loving child shrunk back in uncertainty while Beverly rocked forward on the tips of her wooden sandals and began flipping through albums with an eager little grin. He couldn't stop himself from ogling her, following the curve of her ass straight down her plush thighs to her shapely calves.  _Venus in Platforms_.

“Here!” She held an album out to Richie. The cover art was trippy as hell. “And-” she sidestepped into “progressive” and gathered a few more before she led him back to a little curtained listening booth. “Sit.”

Richie plopped down on the little chair in front of the record player - he was just along for the ride at that point, her vivaciousness had knocked any goofing and smart-assery right out of his repertoire.

As she drew the curtain shut, he heard the man at the front desk call after them. “No fooling around in there, you two!” He had a slight accent that Richie couldn't quite place - some Eastern European country, maybe.

“Never, Elli!” Beverly called back. “Right, Tozier?”

Richie blinked and shook his head - he'd forgotten exactly where they were for a moment. He leaned out past the curtain, calling back in a snooty, high-pitched voice. “Why, perish the thought, my good sir! Only the purest of intentions!” It earned him a muffled giggle.

Contrary to Beverly's assurance, she faced him and straddled his lap. Her mini skirt rode up to the tops of her thighs and her striped cotton panties pressed barely, achingly against his dick. He had to bite his own tongue. _Good fucking god, you cruel temptress._

Beverly placed a huge pair of headphones over his ears with the zeal of a cop tackling and cuffing a robber before turning at the waist to set the needle, which resulted in some wonderful, torturous friction. If he didn't start talking, he was going to keep thinking and none of it was appropriate for a public establishment.

“Are you about to _blow my mind_ or something?”

“If you want.” Her eyes were fucking incredible. He was both drunk on arousal and mortified by their unabashed flirting. “Up to you.”

Richie had no idea what she meant by that but, hell, at that point, she could have sneezed and it would have sounded suggestive.

Thankfully, music began piping into his ears - but music wasn’t strong enough of a word. He had to close his eyes to _really_ hear it. It was a bizarre mixture of styles, using unconventional instruments like xylophones and horns - he'd honestly never thought about most of those individual elements being used together _ever_ in his life - but there were callbacks to the ballads they grew up with - and the lyrics! He had no idea how to describe those. There was a hell of a lot going on but it kind of spoke to him.

Beverly said something but he didn't catch it. Richie lifted one of the earphones away from his ear. “Huh?”

“I said _Zappa will do that to you_ , melvin."

“This is crazy. Neat as hell, though.” Beverly raised her eyebrows expectantly. “I like it.”

She clapped her hands, clearly pleased with herself. “Good! Mothers of Invention are totally wild. I think they'll grow on you.”

A slow smile tugged at his mouth. “You're real fucking cute, Bev, you know that?”

She kissed the tip of his nose. He went for her mouth but she stopped him, placing a finger over his lips. “No fooling around, Richie.” His tight-lipped whine made her giggle.

Beverly turned at the waist again to swap records; again, he silently gritted his teeth, trying to remember if she was this devilish as a kid.

Each album pushed Richie further and further away from his musical comfort zone. Conceptually, sitting there would have been a complete drag, but Beverly played her favorite songs for him and he liked every last one. At one point, Elli, the guy at the desk, slipped _Disraeli Gears_ through the curtain which delighted the hell out of her. He had no idea how long they’d been there, but it didn’t matter because Beverly made out with him for the entire 2 minute, 50 second duration of “Tales of Brave Ulysses” and he decided Cream was incredibly good.

What they were doing was surreal in a lot of ways: his first childhood crush stuffed into a booth with him, playing album after album and bringing him up to speed on foreign and underground music, shit he’d ignored for years, songs he’d never even heard through the college radio station. She was schooling him again and he loved every minute of it. _Another one for the vault: Making Frivolous Summer Memories with Beverly Marsh, part 5._

He would have no memory of it in a month, only some albums he’d compulsively listen to every summer by artists he’d always have a soft spot for.

 

 

They migrated to the park around late afternoon. By some stroke of luck, all of the kids and families had cleared out so they could sit on the swings without getting dirty looks. That and the absence of screaming made it a lovely hangout spot.

They talked about college for the first time. Richie filled Beverly in on the clusterfuck that happened with his parents when he decided to get a little deeper into broadcasting. He told her about the weird roommates he had to deal with, and the two girls he tried and failed to date. She had similar relationship stories, but art schools apparently had no shortage of interesting people to chill with. Their parties sounded way cooler, too. One of her friends, some chick from California, was the one who turned her on to a lot of the music she shared with him. Beverly told him about the one girl she had a thing with and Richie felt a pang of disappointment at never having been with a guy - as far as he knew, anyway.

Beverly drifted back and forth on her swing, faint tones of her younger self flickering with the sun between the leaves. She didn’t wear yellow cotton dresses or saddle shoes anymore, but she still sat with her knees together and her head cocked up at the sky. It was exactly like his stolen glances at her in the Barrens: Beverly Marsh staring dreamily up into the treetops when everyone got quiet.

“Beverly?”

She brought her gaze back down to him. “Yeah?”

Richie wanted to stop himself from talking, but, “did you love me when we were kids?”

Beverly smiled gently and he would have fallen to his knees if he hadn’t been sitting down. “Of course I did.”

“I mean..."  _Don't finish that thought, man, shut up right now_ _._ “Like Bill.”

A fog of weird emotions seemed to roll in out of nowhere. He felt like throwing up. It was a terrible thing to ask her. Comparing each of their relationships went against the cohesion of their group - it wasn't a clear fact as far as he knew but it was certainly a feeling, almost a warning not to violate their unspoken laws. _What were we, a cult?_ It bred mistrust and jealousy, things that drove people apart. The abject horror of losing what they had in their short time together began to overtake him and he was suddenly aware that his knee was spastically bouncing up and down.

“Richie, that’s…” Beverly looked down at her feet scuffing against the dirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He wanted to feel rejection and be punished for it. He only felt her small hand in his. “I’m sorry.”

Her vacant swing twisted back and forth on its own.

She hugged his face close to her chest.

She stroked his hair and he realized she was crying.

“I’m never going to love anyone the way I love you.” Beverly’s voice shook and she sniffed. She sounded so small. “I can’t.”

Richie didn’t say anything - he couldn’t. The only thing he thought to do was hug her around the waist.

What she had with Bill was both strange and powerful, and he’d never understand it - neither Bill nor Beverly would ever fully understand it, either. He just wanted to understand what he had with her, he wanted to at least have that. It shouldn't have mattered, but he was scared of never knowing it again. Whatever they had would probably be over the second she left and he’d never get to hold her hand everywhere or feel her weight on his chest every morning; it would die without a name.

“I’m an idiot.”

“Beep-beep, Richie.”

He snorted against her soft blouse. Things were better, things were safe, but they were raw. Richie Tozier and Beverly Marsh were part of an open wound created by loss. It became larger the more they remembered and it wouldn’t stop hurting until they forgot it was there but it would always continue to grow, it would go deeper, and it would decay until -

_Until something._

“Wanna go down to the Barrens?”

He felt a violent jolt inside of his stomach, but he automatically replied, “yeah.”

 

The clubhouse was still there. He was honestly surprised they hadn’t ended up down in the Barrens sooner. Perhaps it was talking about Bill that did it - the guy who had it together, who wrangled all of them that summer, one of his closest friends. They'd saved each other's asses over and over.

They sat with their feet dangling into the dirt hole, finding it was much bigger to them as kids. The fact that it had survived a decade was a testament to Ben’s architectural genius. He could tell Beverly was thinking about him; she smiled fondly and leaned against Richie's shoulder. 

“Kinda missed it down here.”

Beverly nodded. “It feels nice.”

“Not hard to please, are we?”

He continued staring into the dirt hole, seeing shadows of his obnoxious little self flopping across his friends’ laps to grab the next issue of issue of Betty and Veronica because he was _convinced_ they were going to kiss. Everyone thought he was full of shit except for Eddie and Beverly. " _You’ll tell me if they do, right_?" Eddie had whispered to him one day.

“I still can’t even understand how it was so good and so bad at the same time," he said.

"I don't know. I usually only remember bad things, but...I’m glad you asked me to teach you yo-yo tricks.”

“Yeah, on the bench, and then...” Richie trailed off. He never expected her to bring up something that was so vivid for him. He wasn’t cool, he definitely wasn’t smooth - _she_ was. Why in god's name would his embarrassing, goggle-eyed self be memorable to her at all? “You actually remember that?”

There was a pleased little grin on her face. “I got to see movies with two boys and have an alleyway street fight afterwards. It was a riot.” She coolly glanced up at him. “I didn't mind you staring at me, either. It was cute.”

Richie's eyebrows shot up along with his heart rate.  _Dead at 21._ He tried desperately to cover his surprise but she slipped her fingers through the cool dirt, lacing them between his, and he thought, o _h god, the dirt_. Some weird memory of crawling on his hands and knees -

" _What the fuck kind of house was it, jesus christ..._ " Beverly cocked her head curiously. "I -" one of his stupid laughs escaped him. "A pine-studded bungalow."

"This is so wild," Beverly began to laugh. "Just fucking sitting down here." She pulled away and turned to face him. "You, sir, were in it for the money."

A slow grin tugged at his lips. "You know that line still hasn't worked." She snorted, thunking her head against his shoulder. "No one's hot for thrifty bachelors. Cryin' shame if ya ask me, sweetheart."

"You proposed with nothing! Where is the house, Richie Tozier?? Mother was right about you, grovelling in the dirt for five dollars, you no-good Trashmouth."

They burst into giggles. God, what a weird bunch of kids they were.

They "broke ground", as Bill so technically put it, and that little spot in the Barrens turned into a child-manned construction site. Everyone dug that stupid hole, up to their asscracks in dirt. (Richie wondered offhand if Stan had been there, if he'd been as dirty as the rest of them.) It was worth it, though. Richie was sure there were a lot of good memories about it, but he'd probably never remember them. In fact, he probably never would have remembered deciding he probably loved Beverly - as much as an 11 year old could, anyway - if he'd gone down there without her.

She had fallen asleep one day back then, somewhere below where Richie’s left leg dangled over the edge of the hole. It wasn’t uncommon to find Beverly napping down in the cool dirt as the summer of '58 dragged on. The two of them were reading comics and shooting the shit that day - everyone else came and went so they were alone in the clubhouse for most of the afternoon. It was normal; they were sitting down there as they usually did but Richie got uncharacteristically quiet (which Beverly seemed to appreciate while she read) because his poor eleven year old body couldn’t handle their knees almost touching. Richie liked to think he was cool about it, especially compared to Ben, but that was probably the first time he ever actually wanted to kiss a girl. They were alone down there dozens of times and it was fine but that day was a mixture of too many contributing factors. He caught the end of a pretty risque movie the night before, he had an equally lewd dream, he biked past some teenagers necking in broad daylight, Beverly was wearing denim shorts - it was pure overload. The silence eventually put Beverly to sleep. She gradually slumped over until her cheek was resting against his bony shoulder. Desperate to quash his roiling emotions, Richie wiggled a bit, trying to nudge her off so he could escape, but he only succeeded in gradually pushing her lower so he was sitting there with Beverly’s head on this thigh for an hour. He was both distraught and gratified and may have touched her hair - fiery red, fanned out over his lap. He bolted out the second she began stirring awake.

But her hair was short now. And he wasn’t wearing glasses.

“This date got kinda weird, did'n-” Her lips silenced him.

Summer was still a lucid dream. And he was still in love with her.

 

 

\---

 

**Author's Note:**

> I focused on Richie and Beverly more since Eddie and Beverly's connection kind of takes over when I'm writing their little triangle ((I mean, there's not enough of BOTH, but I seriously want to see more Eddie+Bev bc it gets glossed over a lot even though the novel lays a really nice foundation for it and MAAAN the vulnerability!!)) I kind of wanted to bridge their particular relationship between child and adult because their dynamic is so good and reciprocal.
> 
> I reference Chapter 8, Parts 8-11ish a looooot because it's a really good bit of relationship development. They're extremely cute and Ben is extremely cute, it kills me. But yeah - each connection takes on it's own nature and it's really interesting!
> 
> Also holy shit a record store date sounded like a good scenario so I wrote it. I rehashed a bit of the other fic, but I made an effort to not just...copy and paste it. Anyway...


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